


Two Skeletons Rotten Side by Side

by zuotian



Series: Coyote Teeth [3]
Category: South Park
Genre: Car Accidents, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Metaphorical Baptism, Skeletons In The Closet, Threats of Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:47:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21922402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuotian/pseuds/zuotian
Summary: Cartman and Kenny finally get their movie night, but not without collateral damage.(Set betweenCoyote TeethandGuts Out in a Ring of Daisies.)
Relationships: Eric Cartman/Kenny McCormick
Series: Coyote Teeth [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1572889
Comments: 13
Kudos: 33





	Two Skeletons Rotten Side by Side

**Author's Note:**

> i'll be honest. this is kind of a mess. i still like it though. i like writing people talking and doing things without fuss and that's practically the whole fic. there isn't any resolution or communication. but cartman and kenny aren't the type to resolve things, and they have a bad habit of talking around an issue. 
> 
> i'll write the epilogue to guts as promised. then i've got a karen POV next. 
> 
> liane will be back.

ALL CHARACTERS AND EVENTS IN THIS FANFICTION—EVEN THOSE BASED ON A REAL SHOW—ARE ENTIRELY GRATUITOUS. ALL CANONICAL DIALOGUE IS IMPERSONATED ... POORLY. THE FOLLOWING FANFICTION CONTAINS COARSE LANGUAGE AND DUE TO ITS CONTENT IT SHOULD NOT BE READ BY ANYONE.

Kenny had never realized how small the bathroom was until somebody besides a reedy McCormick occupied its limited space. What Cartman lacked in height he doubled in width. His shoulders stretched from the boxy sink to the opposite towel rack; his gorilla feet spanned a collective four tiles.

He hadn’t bathed since before Friday. Kenny let him borrow his toothbrush, which was kind of hot in a domestic sense—swapping spit on the bristles, hello—but that was as far as he’d groomed himself. They had school tomorrow, however, and he got all nervous about it. So Kenny offered a shower, which required a laborious operations rundown.

“Water’s either scalding hot or ice cold,” he said, straddling the bathtub’s ledge. “There’s really no in between—you just gotta pick your poison. I switch every other night. Mix it up a little.”

“Uh-huh,” Cartman grunted, his face twisted in a petulant grimace as he took in the leaky faucet and chipped ceramic.

“The handles are all screwy, so we use these—” Kenny plucked a pair of pliers and pantomimed twisting the water on, then returned them to the back of the toilet before continuing with his demonstration. “This tab here switches the shower head. It’s kinda finicky. You really gotta pull. Hold it good for a few seconds so it says on. Then punch it to turn it off. Besides that, it don’t drain right, so you gotta be quick otherwise the tub’ll overflow. It takes hours to drain. You’ll wanna call dibs first or else you’ll be standing in somebody’s gross water.”

“Okay.”

“You can take my towel. I’ll just share Kevin’s.” He sent Cartman a cautious look. “Um, I think that’s it. There’s body wash. And shampoo. We don’t believe in conditioner.”

“You don’t believe in conditioner,” Cartman repeated.

“Soap’s soap, dude.”

“That’s why your _eyelashes_ have dandruff, Kenny.”

“My eyelashes don’t have dandruff.”

“Yes, they do. I can see it all the way over here. You’re a box of instant mashed potatoes turned into a person.”

“Okay! Alright. I have dandruff, yes.” Kenny straightened his matchstick legs and plodded across the four-by-four square of mildew, slung his arms around Cartman’s waist. “Babe,” he said. The word made his heart strike a giddy beat.

It also caused Cartman to drop his glower. He sighed and returned the embrace, big hands dwarfing all of Kenny’s lower back. “What?”

“I’m sorry my bathroom sucks.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not, though. This is a pretty huge, uh, downgrade. I remember when I used the one at your house those couple times. You had a fucking spa, dude.”

“Financed by my whorish mother’s suitors,” Cartman snapped.

Kenny bent down and pressed their foreheads together. “Would you rather me hose you off in the backyard? It’ll be like a wet t-shirt contest...”

“Fucking—hell—” The darkness evaporated. Cartman fought a laugh. “You’re sick, Kenny. And twisted. And a _sleaze_.”

“We’ll save that idea for later, then.” Kenny nosed his greasy temple. “It’s just so damn cool having you here. I dunno what to do with myself.”

“First thing you can do is get your grubby paws off my ass.”

“Oh—” Kenny released him, blushing. “Sorry.”

“I didn’t meant _that_.” Cartman edged closer to the door, anyway. “Look—I appreciate your, uh, help. But I don’t even have any clothes to change into.” He tugged the collar of Cousin Bob’s sweatshirt. “I’ve been wearing this God-awful thing for the past three days. I’m pretty sure it’s a _woman’s_ shirt, by the way. It’s got feminine architecture.”

“It probably is. Cousin Bob’s boobs are bigger than yours.”

“What I’m saying is there’s no point in showering if I’m just gonna put dirty clothes back on.”

Kenny didn’t necessarily agree with that, but Cartman had always been very strident on personal hygiene ever since junior high. Maybe to make up for being fat. Or for other reasons that would boil Kenny’s blood if he considered them.

“You need your own stuff,” he said.

Cartman nodded.

“Okay.” Kenny tapped his thighs, left bare under the hem of his sixth grade gym shorts. They still fit his washboard waist, just not the rest of him. He’d stretched like Laffy Taffy in sophomore year. All bones, no meat. The growing pains—yeesh. “Whatcha wanna do about it?”

“ _I_ don’t know. It’s fucking—it’s seven ‘o clock. I don’t have time to think about it.”

“We don’t have to go to school tomorrow,” Kenny said. “Long as we get Cs and the truancy officer don’t show up my parents won’t care.”

“Park County High is the absolute last thing on my mind,” Cartman established.

“Right. Um.” Kenny wedged past him and opened the door. “Let’s go to my room.”

They spilled into the hallway. The muffled lights/sounds of Die Hard on VHS strobed across cigarette smoke billowing out of Kenny’s parents’ room. Karen could be heard yammering on her phone next door. Kevin’s door followed, emblazoned with KEEP OUT signs from his youth he had yet to take down. He’d been gone all night, probably fucking Tammy Warner’s older sister in the back of his pickup.

They didn’t have to sneak around, technically speaking, but Kenny kept waiting for a shoe to drop—ground rules or something. His parents didn’t give a damn about much, but he figured they’d cross the line at full frontal anal sex. Not that him and Cartman _did_ it or anything; they only just confessed their feelings for each other two nights ago. Kenny acted under the assumption they were boyfriends now and did not request further clarification. Cartman hadn’t offered any, either, so it was totally fair game remaining ignorant to the details of their newfound dynamic. It wasn’t like much had changed, all things considered.

That being said, Kenny didn’t relax until he bolted his door. The brief respite died when he spun around and found Cartman collapsed on the floor.

“Holy shit!” He dropped to his knees and heaved Cartman onto his back. Not a very easy thing to do when Cartman didn’t want to move. “You fucking scared me, man. What the hell?”

Cartman looked right past his shoulder at the ceiling fan. One of the light caps hung loose on its hinges and had a tendency to creak with the ramshackle house’s exhalations.

“Why’re you on the _floor_? Hello, Cartman?” Kenny brushed the hair out of his eyes. The soft touch did not spur Cartman to attention, so he laid down.

“I dunno,” Cartman said.

Kenny glanced at him. “Huh?”

“I dunno _why_ I’m on the floor. Sometimes you just need to get low to the ground. I’m feeling very instinctual.”

“Okay, then.”

“It’s good for my back.”

“You can’t _sleep_ here.”

“I don’t want to sleep here. I just wanted to lay down.”

“You’re freaking me out.”

Cartman hid his face in Kenny’s long hair. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to _apologize_.”

“Okay.”

Kenny humphed. He grabbed Cartman’s hand screwed around with it for awhile. Cat-cradled their fingers, scraped the dirt out of Cartman’s nails, compared the length of their palm lines. His life line was a lot longer than Cartman’s, but Cartman’s head line was a lot longer than his.

“I need to get my stuff,” Cartman said.

Kenny lowered their entwined hands and craned his neck upward. “Just say the word. I’ll go with you.”

Cartman twisted his head out of sight, lacking Kenny’s blond curtain. “I don’t want you to go.”

“It’ll be fine. We’ll scope it out. See if your mom’s home—”

“What about Ted?”

Kenny bit his tongue to stopgap a panicked breath. “Uh—we’ll see if he’s there, either. I’ll bring my gun.” Not that it’d do any good, since he’d already utilized it.

“I turned my phone off,” Cartman said. “She called a thousand times. Left voicemails.”

“Aw, crap.” Kenny let go of Cartman’s hand and palmed his jaw, forcing him to make eye contact. “You didn’t _listen_ to ‘em did you?”

“A couple. I couldn’t help it.”

“And?”

“She was a mess. Sobbing. Begging me to come back.”

Kenny thumbed the corner of his mouth. Cartman canted his head down—as much of an open invitation as he was able to give. Kenny pressed a light kiss to his lips. “You shouldn’t of done that.”

“She doesn’t know I’m here,” he mumbled. “Not yet.”

He looked so damn sad about it Kenny was beginning to consider shooting Liane, too. “She’s always been like that. She don’t feel bad about anything till you call her out on it.”

“I’m just worried what she’ll do if she shows up when I’m there.”

“I’ll worry about that. That’s why I’m gonna go with you.”

“Kenny—” Cartman wormed onto all fours and bracketed him with his body. “You can’t hold my mother at _gun_ point.”

Kenny took his turn staring at the broken ceiling fan. “Why the hell not?”

“Because that shit’s _illegal_. People don’t follow the same outlaw code you do.”

“I’d like to see her try calling the cops on me.”

“I don’t.” Cartman’s limbs caved in. Kenny coughed, sandwiched between his lug of a loverboy and bedroom floor. “You shouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.”

The guy had no idea how _in_ this mess Kenny was, or how messier he had already made it. He wrenched his arms free and wrapped Cartman in a hug. “Eric,” he said. “I’m in it one hundred percent. Whether you like it or not. So just deal, aight?”

“Ugh,” Cartman replied.

Kenny thumped his back. “C’mon. Sleep on it. Just not on the _floor_.”

“It’s _seven_ ,” Cartman said. “I’m not _tired_.”

He sure was acting like it. He didn’t move an inch. Kenny let him mope, until he couldn’t breath. “You’re gonna break my ribs. Get off.” Cartman rolled and sat up, hair mussed. Kenny rose with him. “We never played my PS2, y’know.”

Cartman shrugged. “I could go for killing hookers. It’ll be therapeutic.”

Kenny jumped to his feet. “I’ll set it up.”

They squeezed together on the stacked mattresses. Lights off, Kenny’s ancient television beaming at them atop two milk crates. The controller wire snaked between dirty laundry, trash, and half-empty sketchbooks into Cartman’s hands. He started a new San Andreas file, controller braced on Kenny’s stomach, who was sprawled in his lap.

“I jerked off to her when I was a kid,” Kenny said in reference to the sexy Chola on the loading screen. “Never liked the blonde one too much.”

His hair puffed with a snort from Cartman. “Why not?”

“Too obvious. She’s dying to get fucked. This girl, though,” he swung his hand out, “she’s just chilling out. Standing around. That bandanna top’s not a bad look, either. Plus there’s the crucifix so you know she’s a woman of God.”

“How’d you jerk off so quick?” The loading screen vanished, illustrating Cartman’s objection. Having seen it a thousand times each, they talked over the low-polygon cut scene. _Aw shit, here we go again._ “This game’s old, but it doesn’t take ten minutes to boot up.”

“I could beat off in under thirty seconds or less,” Kenny smirked. “Not to brag.”

“I’ll have to call the world record people. Get you in the book.”

“Oh, I can’t hack it anymore.”

“What, are you past your _masturbatory_ prime?”

“Yeah. I really am. Takes me a whole minute and a half these days.”

“I never jacked off much. Still don’t.” Cartman swiveled the analog sicks, a nostalgic sound that kept conversation light. “I couldn’t even look at my own dick half the time.”

Kenny watched him bike towards Grove Street, unable to come up with a proper reply.

“I got over it, after awhile,” he said.

“Oh, yeah?” Kenny asked. “How?”

“It wasn’t some Grand Theft Auto bitch, I can tell you that.”

“What was it?” Kenny turned when Cartman remained quiet. “Was it gay?”

“Yeah,” Cartman said, eyes fastened to Big Smoke brandishing a baseball bat.

“I get off on gay stuff, too,” Kenny said. “I’m bisexual.”

“You’re anything-sexual,” Cartman accused. “Hell or high water. You can find a way to make anything sexy.”

“Don’t change the subject. C’mon. What was it? Justin Timberlake?”

“Jesus! No. I grew outta that when I was nine.”

A guessing game, then. Kenny settled back into Cartman’s arms. “Magic Mike?”

“I’m not a thirty-four year old housewife, Kenny.”

“You’re right. That’s too obvious. I bet it’s something totally obscure.”

“It really isn’t.”

“I give up. Just tell me already.”

“Terrance.”

Kenny’s nose scrunched. “ _What_? You mean that geeky kid who lives on the hill?”

“No.” Cartman postponed his answer, too busy running from purple Ballas. Distracted as he was—not by _conversation_ , Kenny hoped—he died pretty quick. _Wasted._ The Chola came back up. God bless her. “As in Terrance and Phillip,” Cartman said.

“Wow.” Kenny didn’t know how to take the news. “That’s kind of perverted.”

“Oh, that’s rich—” Cartman dropped the controller and jabbed Kenny’s liver. “Coming from the king of perverts _himself_.”

“I’m just saying. We grew up on those guys. It’d be like if you got off on _Steve_ from Blue’s Clues or something.”

“Steve wasn’t too bad, either.”

“Why’d you like it, though? Seriously?”

“Maybe I’ve got a fetish for Canadian men. Like how people are into Brazilian women.”

“I’ll tell Kyle to keep Ike away from you, then.”

“Gross! Ike’s old as Karen. He’s just a kid.”

“Oh, yeah.” Kenny’s brow furrowed at the dumb faux paus. Were some jokes not allowed anymore? “Sorry.”

“Don’t censor yourself on my behalf.” Cartman manned the controller, back at his initial save point. “I’m not _triggered_ or anything.”

There was a heaviness in the air, regardless. “I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Kenny said. He smoothed his fingers on the underside of Cartman’s pudgy wrist. “I kind of just talk non-stop around you. I don’t think about it.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“It’s ‘cause you’re the only person I don’t feel like being quiet around.”

“Well.” Cartman kissed the base of his neck. “You’re the only person I don’t have to _talk_ to. You’re a good person to shut the hell up with.”

Cartman didn’t let up off his neck. It sent a chill down Kenny’s spine—not sexy, just nice. Satisfied, in an emotional kind of way. “Are you trying to tell me to shut the hell up?” he asked.

“No.” Cartman pulled him closer. “Keep talking.”

Kenny kept talking. He didn’t stop until Cartman called it quits at the notorious train mission. Wrong side of the tracks, for sure.

“Fucking bullshit,” he huffed, tossing the controller to the floor. “It always takes me forever to jump that fucking train car. I’ve done it so many times.”

“Me too,” Kenny said, “don’t feel bad.” He crawled out of Cartman’s lap and shut the PS2 down.

Cartman meanwhile shucked his crusty jeans. Kenny returned to bed and was immediately trapped in a pair of thunder thighs. Carman liked sleeping in between the window and a warm body—impenetrable from any angle but above. Kenny thought his reflexes were ninja enough to deflect a surprise aerial attack. He wouldn’t be able to offer protection much longer, though.

“You’re not gonna be able to stay here with me forever,” he muttered, all his lanky extremities spider-monkeyed around Cartman’s pillowy heft.

Cartman propped his chin on Kenny’s chest. “Whatcha mean?”

“I mean,” Kenny brushed Cartman’s bangs aside to see his narrowed gaze glint in the dark, “this ain’t gonna fly. You in my bed. This ain’t some super long sleepover, dude.”

“What the hell are you insinuating?”

“Uh—it’s just, y’know. The principle of it.”

“The principle of _what_?”

“You know what I’m saying.”

“Enlighten me. I don’t want any miscommunication.”

“My parents won’t want us fucking,” Kenny blurted. “Not that—not that I _care_ if we do—I mean I _do_ , but we don’t _have_ to—if you even _wanted_ , that is—”

“Kenny.”

He released the giant wad of oxygen that had built in his throat. “Yeah?”

Cartman grinned. “You wanna screw me?”

“Fuck, man—”

“You think your parents think we’re doing it right now?”

“ _I_ dunno! Maybe! What’s it matter?”

Kenny tried squirming away, but Cartman locked his legs. “We need to establish something,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“The parameters of our relationship.”

“Oh, Christ.” Kenny shoved Cartman off his chest and turned onto his side, to facilitate better negotiation. “Okay, mister. You want me to sign a contract?”

“That’d help.”

“Show me the dotted line.”

“For serious, though.” Cartman crossed his arms, leaving a gulf between them. Total balls. “What the hell are we doing?”

“We’re talking,” Kenny said. “We’re laying down.”

“Don’t be obtuse.”

“Well, stop saying stupid fucking words! Get to the point, man. You clearly have one.”

“Are we, like, _dating_?”

Kenny mirrored Cartman’s frown. “I dunno. Are we?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, well—”

“Nobody even knows I’m gay.”

“ _Are_ you?”

“I think.”

“Alright,” Kenny said. “Congratulations.”

Cartman kicked his shins. “Cut it out! I’m trying to come outta the _closet_ here.”

He trapped Cartman’s ankle between his knees. Tranquilize the opponent. “It’s no a big deal. Everybody’s gay now.”

“Easy for you to say. You were born out of the closet. Your birth certificate probably says Kenny McCormick: _queer_.”

“That’s fair. I’ve got a _lascivious_ personality.” Kenny smiled, but Cartman wasn’t too impressed by his diction. He rolled his eyes and scooped Cartman back onto his chest. “Who cares what anybody thinks? You never did before.”

“I wasn’t announcing my sexuality then, either. It’s nobody’s business—I know that. It’s just...” Cartman grabbed Kenny’s hand and resumed their game of cat’s cradle. “It’s _always_ a big deal. In today’s political climate. I’m not making a statement. I don’t want people coming up and asking me when I’m gonna start picketing Chik-fil-A. I don’t want to. They’ve got good chicken. Sue me.”

“Then don’t tell nobody anything,” Kenny said. “You kinda make everything a statement, yourself, dude. You’ve got an opinion on everything. Even _curly_ fries.”

“That’s because curly fries are a joke,” Cartman argued. “They’re a sham. They getcha in with the seasoning, but when you eat ‘em you’ve only got a couple good spirals and the rest is crispy bits. The skin-to-potato ratio is astounding. The FDA needs to get on it.”

“All I’m saying is you’re probably way over-thinking this.”

“I’m over-thinking it because everybody else is going to over-think it!”

“Eric—” Kenny wrapped his thumb around the back of Cartman’s hand. “Do you _want_ to date me?” Cartman’s eyes darted to the ceiling fan. Kenny pumped the brakes. “Okay. Start with this. You told me you think you love me.”

“You told me the same thing,” Cartman muttered.

“Because I meant it.”

“Well, I meant it too.”

Kenny’s nostrils flared at the confirmation. “So, what?”

“So,” Cartman wrestled his own thumb over Kenny’s like he’d declared a thumb war, “I think we should elope. Go into the Alaskan wilds and never talk to anybody again.”

Kenny laughed. “Man, you’re crazy.”

“I’m serious. You can jury-rig just about anything. We’ll be fine.”

“What’re _you_ gonna contribute?”

“Oh, hell. I don’t know. I’ll set up wi-fi and break into the dark web market. To finance our cabin mansion.”

“That I would be building, hypothetically.”

“Yes.”

“And I’ll probably be bringing home deer to cook, too. Sounds like I’d be doing all the work.”

“No you wouldn’t. I could barter and trade with the native population. Your deerskins for their whale blubber.”

“The hell are we gonna use _whale_ blubber for?”

“It’s gotta be useful, if everybody’s out whaling all the time.”

“Cartman...” Kenny huffed an exasperated sigh. “Stop doing that! Stop distracting me with your crazy talk!”

“It’s not crazy,” Cartman said. “It’s a sensible alternative.”

“Look.” Kenny lifted his head. “Just tell me straight up. Do you not wanna get together ‘cause you don’t want people to know?”

“Uh.” Cartman loosened the sweaty chokehold on his palm. “It’s not _you_.”

“I know that. I think we’re _beyond_ that.”

“It’d just be a huge process,” Cartman groaned. “Drop the gay thing for a second. No matter what, when you get with somebody, everyone’s nosy as hell. It becomes this huge thing. We’ve never been, like, a huge thing. Even now. Don’tcha think?”

“Yeah,” Kenny grinned. “I don’t feel any different about you than I did before.”

“Me neither,” Cartman said. “You’re still annoying as shit.”

“So are you!” Kenny pinched his chin and pressed their mouths together. “But now I can do _that_ to shut you up.”

Cartman made a big show scraping the germs on his tongue off on Kenny’s t-shirt. “No you _can’t_. I will not be swayed by your feminine wiles, Kenny.”

“My feminine wiles?” Kenny dropped back into the pillow. “You should check out the feminine wiles between my legs.”

“I mean you’ve got a mix of masculine and feminine energies—which you weaponize against me!” Cartman threaded an errant lock of Kenny’s hair around his finger. “Look at you. You’re practically a transvestite.”

“That’s not the accepted terminology no more.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sure you’ve studied all of it in depth on Pornhub.”

“I have, matter of fact. I’m a scholar in that department. If I was a transvestite, I’d dress up to get my rocks off. I just do it for the hell of it.” Kenny flapped his hands; they landed on Cartman’s shoulders. “Totally non-sexual.”

“So you’re a crossdresser.”

“No, dude. Crossdressing—it’s like an _event_. I don’t make a hubbub about it. I just do it.”

“So you’re a _tranny_ ,” Cartman concluded, releasing Kenny’s hair. “What an exhaustive process of elimination.”

“I’m not a tranny! I don’t want boobs—well—I’d give ‘em a spin, for a little while—but I like my cock—agh, wait!” Kenny smacked Cartman’s shoulders. “You did it again!”

“I haven’t any idea what you are referring to,” Cartman said.

Kenny kneed his stomach. “Fuck you!”

“Ow!” Cartman landed rough, to the mattress’ displeasure. “That hurt, jackass!”

“Good! Butthole! Now lemme talk, before you go off the rails again—”

“It’s not my fault you’re so fucking squirrelly! You’ve got the attention span of a—”

Kenny punched a kiss into Cartman’s stupid sexy face. “Fucking idiot moron. _Yeah_ , I wanna screw you—”

“Oh, shit—”

Kenny cupped his elbow, pressed him into the bed. Cartman’s fingers scrabbled along Kenny’s spine, eventually found purchase in Kenny’s hair. Kenny cocked his neck to enhance the sting in his scalp.

Their lips came unglued. “Kenny,” Cartman gasped.

Kenny swallowed his carbon dioxide like a dying plant. “I know, baby—”

“No, _Kenny—_ stop—”

It took a second for the word to register in Kenny’s swamp brain. When it did he immediately eased backward, but not far enough to break the blond spiderweb between them. “What is it?” he asked, brow quirked in concern. “Are you okay? I didn’t bonk your head too hard, did I?”

Cartman’s chest was heaving, and not in an exciting way. More of a I’m-about-to-lose-my-shit way.

“Eric,” Kenny besieged.

“ _Ugh—_ ” Cartman rolled around and face the wall, which was possibly the worst thing he could’ve done. “This is stupid!”

“What is?”

“Me! Everything! My whole life!”

“Okay! Please quit yelling. Karen’ll hear—or my _parents—_ ”

“Let ‘em! They’re not gonna be walking in on anything!”

Silence fell clamorous as a grand piano. Die Hard wasn’t playing anymore. Karen’s yapping had ceased. Everybody was asleep but them. The house moaned, embarrassed.

Kenny waited until Cartman’s angry tremors abated before ghosting his side. “I’m sorry. My feminine wiles got the best of me. I’m a slut, dude. I’m a hound dog. It’s terrible.”

“No, it’s not.”

Cartman didn’t move, so Kenny chanced squeezing an arm around his waist. “It really is. I kinda went vampire-y there. I was sucking your soul.”

“It wasn’t—that.” Cartman peeked over his shoulder. “Your boner’s impaling my back.”

“Huh? Oh.” Kenny finally noticed the tent in his gym shorts. “Don’t move. It won’t know you’re there if you don’t move. It’s like a T-rex.” He looked up again. Cartman was staring at him. “Did you…?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“My dick’s broken,” Cartman explained.

Kenny scooted his pelvis a safe distance away, then laid his head behind Cartman’s. “Nuh-huh. It’s just shy.”

“It’s got a mind of its own. It’s bipolar.”

“Cartman—”

“I’ve got baggage,” Cartman said. “That’s what I’m getting at. This isn’t—I can’t jump into this.”

“I don’t care. Honest.” Kenny patted his soft belly. He was a feral cat tamed by human touch. “If I wanted something not complicated I woulda dipped out forever ago. I think I know what I’m getting myself into.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. I don’t care if it isn’t in your pants. You could wear a chastity belt for the rest of your life. I wouldn’t care.”

“You will. Wait till you’re blue-balled a thousand times.”

“Nah. I’ll just look up those transvestites on Pornhub.”

Cartman’s body fell apart under Kenny’s arm. He restituated himself low on the bed, toes grazing the carpet. Kenny checked his boxers out of curiosity. Flat as a chalkboard, erection-wise.

“Seriously,” Kenny whispered, “I don’t mind.”

“I do,” Cartman said. Him and the ceiling fan were becoming fast friends. “I mind a hell of a lot.”

“We can work on it.”

“Okay.”

“I still wanna date you. Or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” Cartman echoed.

“Yeah,” Kenny said. “It’s whatever.” He pulled Cartman flush against his side. “Don’t get all up in your head about it.”

Cartman didn’t respond, but he did give up on the ceiling fan. They suffered the loud quiet till they both succumbed to restless sleep.

When Kenny woke up, he woke up alone. Instinct told him to check the window. The cool pane of glass offered nothing but frosty weeds. He rolled onto his knees and crab-walked towards his ugly flip phone—straight outta 2004, the battery lasted fifteen days—and clocked the time.

9:04 AM. Slept right through first period. English class. Scott F. Fitzgerald could suck Kenny’s nuts. He chucked the device over his shoulder and stood. He took time to pop all his joints, scratched the tangles out of his hair, even had a nice piss. The bathroom’s acoustics were great. Beautiful as Niagara Falls.

He found his mom bracing herself for another shift at Benny’s in the kitchen. Untied apron thrown over her neck, switching between cigarette drags and gulps of coffee. She put both vices down and gave Kenny a weird look when he passed the threshold. “You’re not going to school?” she asked.

“Slept in. We ain’t doing nothing important, anyway.”

“Huh. Cartman just left.”

Kenny slammed the fridge shut. “What?!”

“Uh—”

He raced outside before Carol could reply. “Hey, fuck-face!”

Cartman paused, just about to close his car door. “Goddamn it.” He climbed out and put his hands on his hips. “What the shit do you want, Kenny?”

Kenny picked across the drive, ambivalent towards the gravel eating his bare feet and the chill raking goosebumps up his legs. “I wanna know where the _shit_ you think you’re going!”

“I _was_ on my way to my mom’s.”

“Baloney!”

Cartman lifted an eyebrow. “Baloney?”

“Yes! You’re a goddamn ham sandwich. A whole Oscar Meyer wiener.” Kenny closed the car door with his hip, then stole the keys out of Cartman’s hand. “We discussed this. I’m going with you.”

“We didn’t discuss anything,” Cartman sneered. “You just made veiled death threats.”

“Same difference.” Kenny waved the keys around. “I’m keeping these, so you don’t go running off. Give me, like, two minutes. I’ll be _right_ back.”

Cartman sat down on the hood of his car. “I’ll be here, I guess.”

“Fucking trying to sneak off,” Kenny muttered on his way back inside.

Carol peered around the kitchen doorway. “Everything alright, son?”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “Looks like I’m going to school anyway.”

He got dressed quick as a soldier. Boots, jeans, flannel, and a flannel jacket. Hunting season. On his way to the front door in two minutes flat.

“Bye, Ma.”

Carol didn’t comment on the rifle slung over his shoulder. “Have a good day, Kenny.”

The car let out a moan of relief once unburdened of its owner’s ass. “You’re seriously bringing that?” Cartman asked.

“Yup.” Kenny threw the keys at Cartman’s face, opened the passenger side, and sat down with the gun between his boots.

Cartman plopped behind the wheel. “Put it in the _back_ , at least.” He blasted the heat all the way, still wearing only Cousin Bob’s sweater. “I don’t want anybody seeing it.”

Kenny obliged, pockets rustling with ammunition as he turned around.

Cartman sighed. “You’re _loaded_ , too?”

“It’s a safety precaution.” Kenny lifted his chin. “I got baggage too, man.”

“Yeah,” Cartman snorted. “Being a lunatic.”

“Let’s go already. Since you were in such a hurry.”

“Alright, alright. Cool it, Texas Ranger.”

Cartman dropped the bitch act once they made it over the tracks. He hadn’t been out of the sticks in days. Kenny always thought town was too over-stimulating, himself. The woods and open sky minimized to squat storefronts and neat neighborhoods. It made him stir-crazy. Maybe Cartman was feeling some of that, now, as well.

His right hand fell palm up on the middle console; Kenny entwined their fingers and gave him a squeeze. “It’ll be okay.”

“Sure,” Cartman said. “I believe you. The gun really calms my nerves.”

“It calms mine,” Kenny said. “The second amendment exists for a reason.”

“I don’t think homicide falls under God given rights.”

“I’m not gonna kill Liane. It’s just in case anything screwy happens.”

“Have you even used that thing?”

“Sure.”

“I mean on something other than coyotes.”

Kenny’s lips pursed. He felt bad lying about assassinating Cartman’s old diddler. He’d tell Cartman eventually, just—maybe a decade from now, when they were married. If they got married. What the fuck? The sudden fantasy screwed him up even more.

Cartman eased off the main street into the residential area, braked at a stop sign.

“No,” Kenny said.

“You’re lying,” Cartman said. “I can tell when you lie, Kenny.”

“How?”

“It’s in your face. Your eyebrow twitches.”

“No it don’t!”

“Now you’re all defensive, see?” The car lurched ahead. “Forget it. I probably don’t want to know. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to have to testify against you in court.”

“I’m not going to court,” Kenny promised. “’Cause I haven’t killed anyone.”

“Okay.”

Kenny let it go. The ride continued in charged silence, until they arrived at Cartman’s house.

“No minivan,” Kenny noted. “She ain’t home.”

“Good. Let’s get this over with.”

Neither of them budged.

Kenny scraped his thumb across Cartman’s knuckles. “Babe.”

“I know,” Cartman said. He released Kenny’s hand and unlatched his seatbelt. “C’mon.”

Kenny loaded his gun with an appetite for destruction. Cartman lead the charge inside, immediately jogging upstairs to his bedroom. Kenny crouched after, rifle strap gripped tight.

Cartman retrieved a duffel bag from his closet—holdover from their ill-fated little league career—and started cramming it full of random clothes. “Go to the bathroom,” he ordered. “Get my toiletries.”

“Your toiletries,” Kenny said, standing behind him.

“Yes! I actually give a damn about how I look, unlike _you—_ ”

“Okay, I’m on it!”

Kenny jettisoned down the hall. He hadn’t been at Cartman’s place in awhile, mostly because Cartman tried staying home as little as possible. They linked up at parking lots and fast food joints, or with mutual friends. It all looked the same, though. The bathroom still reeked of potpourri. Doilies everywhere. Liane had the aesthetic of a kitschy grandma. Cookies and milk and cocaine in the bedside drawer.

Fancy hair products lined the  enormous  shower. Kenny gathered them into his arms, then checked the medicine cabinet. He blinked at the orange pill bottle therein. CARTMAN, ERIC. FLOUXETINE 60 MG. It rattled  half- full. Kenny shoved it into his pocket bulging with ammo,  along with mousse and toothpaste and a toothbrush he guessed was Cartman’s. 

He unloaded the haul,  sans meds, onto Cartman’s bed. “There you go.” 

“Thanks,” Cartman said, invisible. Kenny peeked over the mattress and found him sitting in a circle of memories that had spilled out of his closet. Old toys, video games, trading cards, the Coon’s mask, et cetera. Stuff he lacked the capacity to take with him. 

Kenny checked the window for signs of activity. “Driveway’s still clear.” The blinds clattered shut. “We can always make a second trip.”

“This is all junk,” Cartman said. “There’d be no point.”

“Okay, uh—” Kenny knelt beside him. “What clothes did you get?” 

“Whatever I grabbed first.”

“Jammies, too? Undies?”

Cartman chuffed—Kenny’s desired response. “Yeah.”

“What else do you need?”

“I dunno.”

Kenny stood  at his dresser, started tossing necessities in  hi s direction. “Here’s some socks. And a jacket. And—” He snapped a t-shirt out. “Aw, man. You gotta bring this.” 

Cartman joined him. “What is it?”

Kenny twisted his arms. “Your Canadian lover.”

“Oh, please—” Cartman balled the Terrance and Phillip t-shirt in his hands. “Fine. If you insist.”

“I do insist.” Kenny went to the desk next and unplugged Cartman’s laptop, handed it off. “Take this, too. And your phone charger.”

“Okay, Mom.”

“What else? Got any favorite dildos?”

“No.”

“I’ll getcha one for Christmas, then.”

Cartman zipped the duffel bag. “I’m sure you’ve already got some.”

“Oooh. Y’wanna share?”

“Yes, Kenny. It’ll be like a DIY fecal transplant.”

“Nuh-uh.” Kenny shouldered the duffel bag before Cartman protested. “I clean out.”

“I don’t want to hear about your Pabst buttchug enemas.”

“Hmm. That might not be a bad idea.”

“We’re done,” Cartman smirked. His grin fell as he took in his bedroom. “Uh, I mean. We’re done. Here.” 

“Yeah? You got everything?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Kenny sobered. “Right. But, uh, you got  _something_ , at least—”

“Shit!” Cartman dove across the mattress and opened his side table. “I almost forgot!”

“What?” Kenny asked. “You really do have a dildo, don’tcha?”

“No, asshole.” Cartman straightened, holding a red collar. “It’s Mr. Kitty’s.” 

“Oh.” Kenny rounded to his side and fingered the metal tag. “Y’don’t got his ashes, or anything?” 

“I buried him in the backyard.” Cartman clasped the collar around his wrist for safekeeping. “Might come back and dig him up.”

“I don’t think you should disrupt his final resting place, dude,” Kenny cautioned. “He might haunt ya.”

“If he’s gonna haunt anyone, it’ll be my mother.” Cartman thought for a second. His bottom lip slipped out from under his front teeth. “There is one more thing.”

Kenny frowned. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Cartman shooed him away. “Go out to the car. I’ll be down in a sec.”

“I’m not leaving you alone,” Kenny declared. A knight in secondhand flannel.

“Oh, Jesus.” Cartman scrambled his side table again. Something shiny and metallic dangled from his fingers—he pocketed it before Kenny could discern what it was, bangs flipping to reveal his eyes once more. “Okay. That’s it.” 

“Okay.” Kenny hiked the duffel bag up his shoulder. “Is there anything else?” 

“Nothing important.”

Kenny  surveyed the childhood  artifacts littering the floor. “It’s all important, man.” 

Cartman pulled him  into the hallway  by his elbow. “Don’t get nostalgic. Just forget about it. I already did.” 

“Did you get Clyde Frog, at least?”

“Of course. I’m not _soulless—_ ”

The front door opened. They both stumbled to a halt halfway down the staircase.

“Mom,” Cartman said.

Liane froze, clutching the doorknob. A gust of wind swooped in behind her and rattled them all to action.

“Eric,” she breathed.

“Cartman,” Kenny barked. “Let’s go.”

Cartman didn’t move. Liane stepped forward. “Poopsiekins. What are you doing?”

“He’s leaving,” Kenny said.

Liane’s face crumpled. Her keys and purse fell out of her hands. “Let’s talk about this, honey—”

The banister creaked in Cartman’s  grip .  “You never wanted to talk about it before!”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry, Eric. But Ted’s gone. I don’t know where he went.”

Cartman edged backward. “He’s _gone_?” 

Liane nodded, her crow’s feet moist with tears. “He disappeared. I never knew. I haven’t seen him since that night—”

“Bullshit! That’s bullshit, Mom! Quit fucking lying to me!”

“I didn’t _know._ Eric—calm down, please—” 

Kenny whipped his rifle around. “Don’t move, bitch!”

Liane shrieked, backing away.

He let the duffel bag ripple off his shoulder. “Get your shit and go, babe.” Cartman hesitated, his countenance white and dark with rage. Kenny elbowed his shoulder. “Eric— _go_! I’ll take care of her. She’s not worth it, man.”

Cartman  grabbed the bag and  stomped  outside. Liane tracked his exit, tears running down her face. “ Eric, p lease— ” 

The door thwacked shut. Liane flinched.

Kenny encroached one step at a time. Thumb on the safety, trigger finger twitching. He pressed the rifle’s muzzle into Liane’s bosom. She squeezed her eyes, flattened herself against the wall.

“Don’t ever come ‘round looking for him,” he commanded. “Don’t talk to him. Quit calling him. He’s not coming back.” 

“Kenny. You’ve always been such a nice boy—”

“No I ain’t. I’d kill you right now if Cartman would let me. He hates your guts, but wants you alive. What the hell did you think happened to Ted, anyway?”

Liane’s eyes shot open. “You—?”

Kenny smiled. “You’re damn right I did. Felt good, too. Saturday night. Me and my brother.”

“How?”

“Stalked him. Found out where he worked. Followed him home.”

“Oh, God. Oh, my God.”

“God don’t care. That bastard’s in Hell where he belongs. You’ll see him again, once you go there too.”

“Please don’t kill me,” Liane begged. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know.” 

“My dad told me Ted’s got a reputation,” Kenny said. He tightened his grip, the rifle slippery with sweat. “Everybody knew. You couldn’t not have known. Don’t feed me that crap.” 

Liane licked her lip, spit frothing at the corners of her painted mouth. “He’d been out of jail for decades. He told me he changed.”

“People like him don’t change.” 

“I never thought he’d go after my _son—_ ”

“His dick was just too good, huh? You couldn’t help yourself. Bet he only used you to get to Cartman.”

“No,” she gurgled. “No, he didn’t.”

“He did,” Kenny said. “He did and you knew it. You didn’t care. He came back around and you jumped him first chance. Admit it, Liane.”

“I didn’t know,” she repeated.

Kenny lifted the rifle. She wavered down the wall, crumpled into a heap on the floor.

“I treated Cartman good,” she said. “I gave him everything he wanted. He’s always been so—difficult.”

Kenny  glared at the flatscreen  behind them , the newest Playstation beneath it, the  DVD rack beside it . “None of  this shit matters,”  he said. ‘ It’s all you making up for the fact you’re an awful mother.  Me and my folks don’t have shit. But it don’t matter. I asked my brother to help me kill somebody and he did. This morning my m om watched me walk out with a gun.  That was pretty difficult, but sh e didn’t say nothing. We understand each other.” 

Liane’s brow crinkled. “How did you get away with it? Someone could’ve heard—”

“Nobody heard,” Kenny said. “Nobody cares. I cut him up and threw him in a lake. He’ll freeze over, get washed down the river come spring.”

“And your _mother_ doesn’t mind?”

“My mom doesn’t know. Neither does my dad. Cartman don’t, either. Just you, me, my brother. And Ted. I’m only telling you as a warning. Call the cops, and I’ll—”

“I won’t tell anyone,” she promised. She crawled forward and clasped her hands. “I just want to talk to my son. Please, Kenny—”

Kenny smacked the rifle into her head. She sprawled boneless across his feet. He shook the snot and tears off his boots, lumbered towards the DVD case. All the movies were alphabetized with care—Cartman, no doubt. He located the Ts and snatched all the Tarantino flicks. 

“Kenny,” Liane said. She was holding herself on wobbly arms, blood trickling down her temple. “Kenny, please.”

He stood above her, the DVDs stuffed under his arm. “This is it. This is what you get. It’s over. I better not see your face again.”

“Kenny—”

He stormed out of the house. Cartman  stretched across the middle console opened the  passenger  door. Kenny collapsed  into  his seat. “Movie night,” he said, depositing the DVDs on the floor. 

Cartman eyed the blood on his rifle. “What’d you do?”

“Shook her up, that’s all.” Kenny placed the gun in the backseat with the duffel bag. “You alright?”

“No.” Cartman slipped his phone into Kenny’s hand. “Put on my pissed off playlist.”

They barreled down the road. Kenny clutched the panic bar with one hand, thumbing through Cartman’s Spotify with the other. He found a playlist entitled PISSED OFF!!!! and hit shuffle. Lots of cringey nu metal tracks Cartman wouldn’t be caught dead listening to around anybody but him. The speakers reverberated to the center of the Earth.

Kenny grit his teeth at an especially viscous turn. “Eric,” he said.

Cartman remaine d  dead silent.  They leap ed over the tracks and came down with a bang. Kenny’s head knocked into the window. Cartman rocketed past his house. 

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Cartman said.

“Okay. That’s alright.” Kenny clenched the panic bar. “Just slow down a little, maybe.”

“Shut up, Kenny.”

They fishtailed into the two lane backroads full of loose gravel and mountain deluge and zero traction.

“Slow down,” Kenny said. “We’re gonna crash.”

Cartman accelerated. The speedometer waggled past the seventy mark into the eighties. An incoming truck whizzed by. Its blaring horn mixed with the music and Kenny’s heartbeat. He couldn’t hear a damn thing, thus catching Cartman’s rant a few seconds late.

“—fucking bitch,” he was saying. “Fucking whore. You shoulda killed her. That lying slut.”

Kenny slipped his fingers into Cartman’s hair, pressed his thumb beneath Cartman’s jackrabbit pulse. “It’s alright,” he said. “You won’t see her again. Just cool it. Just take a deep breath.”

Cartman wasn’t even looking at the road, or Kenny. He was off in space a thousand miles away. “She knew,” he growled. “She always knew. She did it anyway.  Ted’s gone—so what, Mom? So fucking what? You gonna forget about everything, never mention it again? Like you always do, huh?” He punched the wheel, didn’t reclaim it. “Like my fucking dad, huh? Pretend he never  _existed—_ ”

“Whoa!” Kenny steadied the wheel. All his driving expertise originated in Mario Kart. He’d never gotten his license for a number of reasons, one of them being this exact situation; if you walk everywhere you rarely have to consider being stuck in a psychotic’s car. “Eric, man, you need to drive! Pull over and freak out then, okay? We gotta get off the road—”

“Shut up, Kenny!”

Kenny’s seatbelt locked. His hand spasmed off the wheel. The car swerved. A giant steel grate appeared through the windshield. 

“Eric!” 

“Shit!” 

Cartman reanimated. He wrenched the wheel to the right. A semi truck blazed past. The car slammed into a guardrail with a nasty screech. Cartman smashed the brakes. They chugged down the road to an abrupt stop which chucked them both forward. 

The semi disappeared, its trail of exhaust a big middle finger. Kenny peeled his face off the bloody dashboard. Something wet ran down his nose. His fingertips came away red after prodding the injury. “Fuck,” he hissed, head pounding with vertigo and distorted guitar riffs. He fished for Cartman’s phone and yanked the aux cord.

He shoved his hair back, still bent over his knees. Some strands dragged through blood and ended up stuck to his forehead. He looked over at Cartman sprawled across the wheel. “Hey. You okay?”

Cartman groaned. Kenny clicked his seatbelt, contorted his legs over the middle console, and pushed him into his seat. He slipped his hand under Kenny’s arm and switched the ignition. The keys jangled to the floor. The car stopped bawling.

“Cartman, hey.” Kenny slapped life back into his cheeks. “Speak. Let me know you’re alive. What year is it? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Fuck you,” Cartman groused.

No concussion, then. Kenny shimmied ass-backwards, kicked the passenger door open. He dropped on unsteady feet and checked out the clawmarks ripped into the side of the car. “It’s not too bad,” he said. “There’s just a little dent. Little scuffed up. We got lucky.”

“We could’ve died,” Cartman said.

“We didn’t, though.” Kenny sat back down. “Pull off up a ways. Let’s go for a walk. I know a place.”

Cartman paused in reaching for his keys. “What the hell is that?”

Kenny looked down. All his bullets had flown out of his pockets, along with Cartman’s medicine. “Uh. I found it in the bathroom.”

“You went snooping through my shit?”

“You _told_ me to!”

Cartman stuffed the meds in his pocket. They eased onward at a blind grandma’s pace. The road opened up, buttressed by another guardrail stapled to a ravine some massive river sliced millions of years ago. “Here,” Kenny said.

Cartman parked on the shoulder. His door sobbed on its hinges when he punched it open.

Kenny followed him out of the car, watched as he marched towards the guardrail. He lobbed the orange pill bottle over the edge, turning around only after it disappeared.

“Hi,” Kenny said.

“You’re bleeding,” Cartman observed, his own forehead colored with a developing bruise.

Kenny held out a hand. “I’ll walk it off.”

“Whatever,” Cartman dismissed.

The shoulder sloped down to the bottom of the ravine. They hiked a couple paces apart, pine needles and deer turds squishing underfoot. The ravine’s parent river had been reduced to a stream in the eons that had passed since its conception; water burbled onto the silty bank awash with fish bones and rocks and broken beer bottles, all of which would eventually be carried away by the bloated spring melt. Cartman kept tripping over debris but somehow never lost his footing. Kenny stayed back, not wanting to unleash the beast.

“Wanna talk about any of what just happened?” he asked.

“Not really.” Cartman looked over his shoulder. “How’s your face?”

Kenny touched his injury stiffened with cold. “I’m alright.” He wiped the flaky blood off on his jeans. “What about you?”

“I’m fine. I’m dandy. I’m glorious, Kenny.” Cartman kicked an abandoned syringe into the stream. “How the hell do you _think_ I’m doing?”

“I dunno, ‘cause you won’t say. I can’t read your mind.”

“Yes, you can.”

Kenny completed an elongated stride and pulled him to a stop. “Chill, dude. Sit down for a second. You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Okay.” Cartman planted his ass cheeks into the mud. He hunched his shoulders to fend off the incoming conversation. “There. I am sitting down.”

Kenny lowered next to him and stretched his legs. Water lapped at his heels, soaked the hem of his jeans. Liane’s blood dissolved off his boots. He glanced at Cartman. Cartman glanced back. Both turned their attention to the stream.

“I’m surprised you left so quick,” Kenny said. “I thought you’d have a big speech or something.”

“I couldn’t think of anything,” Cartman admitted. “I don’t know what I wanted to tell her.”

“That’s alright.”

“I was so mad. I couldn’t think. She doesn’t deserve a closing statement, anyway.”

“She doesn’t,” Kenny agreed.

“I hope it haunts her for the rest of her life.”

“It will. It should.”

“Yeah, well. Sorry I almost killed you.”

Kenny waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. I kill myself every morning before I get outta bed.”

The sun gleamed overhead, hanging on its apex by a string of wispy clouds. Pebbles of light fell into the stream. Kenny imagined Ted’s pulpy remains churning past. Hi, Ted. Bye, Ted. He was prepared to wait out the whole day, even if water seeped into his pants and turned his butt into a prune. He’d die out here if Cartman wanted. Two skeletons rotten side by side.

He cleaved through the quiet. “I used to come out here when I was a kid. Rode my bike. Took about thirty minutes.”

Cartman gratified his statement with a hooded gaze. “It’s a miracle you weren’t accosted by some drugged-out freak.”

“I had a knife. My dad gave me one for my ninth birthday.”

Cartman rolled his eyes. “Sure he did. Why wouldn’t he?”

“I’d whittle sticks.” Kenny rifled through the underbrush in search of a branch. “Like this. Started out with vampire stakes, you know. Then I got a little creative with it.” He lobbed the branch into the water, its educational purpose fulfilled.

Cartman curled his legs to his chest to avoid the splash. “What’d you make?”

“Arrowheads. Stuff like that.”

“Real indigenous of you.”

“Super indigenous. Call me Pocahontas.”

“Pocahontas was kidnapped,” Cartman informed. “The colonists held her for ransom.”

Kenny cocked his head, smirking. “You always gotta be a buzzkill. Why can’t she sing songs with her pet raccoon?”

“I’m not a buzzkill,” Cartman said. “I’m setting the record straight. Disney ruins everything. Sleeping Beauty was raped. A king knocked her up and she gave birth to twins when she woke up. Then there’s Cinderella’s sisters. They broke their feet to get into those slippers, like Chinese peasant women.” He shrugged. “The stories are cooler if you keep the fucked up parts.”

Kenny thought it was kind of cute. “I didn’t know you were so into fairytales.”

“I’m into reality, Kenny,” Cartman corrected. “Most people aren’t. Most people turn life into a Disney movie.”

“So, what?” Kenny prompted. “Life’s more like a Tarantino movie? Gross and crazy?”

“Yes.” Cartman scooted closer. He squinted past the sunlight. “Thanks for grabbing those, by the way. I’m surprised you remembered.”

“Aw, I couldn’t forget. You were practically asking me out on a _date_.”

“Yeah, because my idea of a date is watching movies at your house.”

“If that ain’t it, what would you wanna do? Hypothetically speaking.”

Cartman answered instantly. “Casa Bonita.”

Kenny chuckled. “Damn. You’ve had that in your back pocket for awhile, huh?”

“What, you don’t think I haven’t given this thought?” Cartman ducked his head, all bashful and shit. “I’ve thought about taking you out for years, dude.”

“Nuh-huh.”

“Yeah- _huh_.”

Kenny bumped their shoulders together. “Well, maybe so have I.”

Cartman placed a smooth rock next to his feet. “What’s your plan?” he asked. “A picnic at the dump?”

“Sure. I’d bring cheese sandwiches.” Kenny found another rock and handed it off.

Cartman commenced a lopsided pillar. “ _Just_ cheese?”

“I’m not made of money. I’ll have to take out a loan for some cold cuts. You got expensive taste.”

“That I do. I’m cultured. I use hair conditioner.”

“My hair’s conditioned enough with natural oils.”

“You’re just admitting you’re a greasy bastard.”

“I am a greasy bastard,” Kenny confirmed. “I’m a trashy, greasy tranny. Take it or leave it.”

“I might leave it.”

“Oh, please. What else you got besides me?”

Cartman’s rocks toppled over. He restarted from scratch. Very Zen. “Nothing,” he said. “Nobody.”

“Me neither.”

“What about Karen?” Cartman asked. “Or Kevin? Your parents are okay.”

“They’re alright,” Kenny granted. “Nobody gets me, though. I’ve always been the odd one out. You’re lucky you’re an only child. You don’t have to compare yourself to anybody.”

“You are truly incomparable,” Cartman said.

“Is that an insult or a compliment?”

“Both.”

Kenny violated his personal bubble. It needed popped, just like his cherry. “Wouldja stop playing Legos and look at me?”

Cartman lifted his head. “You’re not much to look at.”

Kenny stuck out his tongue. “Asshole.”

Cartman grinned. “Dick.”

“Pussy.”

“Cocksucker.”

“Faggot.”

“He-she.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Cartman quirked an eyebrow, halfway into Kenny’s lap. “Well, that one’s actually true.”

“So was all the rest,” Kenny said. He thumped into the mud under Cartman’s weight. “Whatcha doing there, buddy?”

“I’m not your buddy, pal.”

“What are you then? My boyfriend?”

Cartman slotted their lips together in lieu of a reply.

Kenny reared back, eyes wide. “Uh, babe—”

“Shut the _fuck_ up, Kenny.”

Cartman used his paunch to push him deeper into the mud. Kenny found he didn’t mind getting suffocated. Asphyxiation no longer _auto_ -erotic. They nipped at each other, rolling up and down the bank. Cartman accidentally dunked him into the stream. He came up hacking for air—Cartman kissed the snot off his mouth, buoyed him with his arms.

“What happened to the Little Mermaid?” he wheezed, wet hair spread across both their shoulders like a fishnet.

“She never got the guy,” Cartman said. “She could’ve killed him to go back to the ocean and pretend it never happened, but she couldn’t do it. She committed suicide instead. There wasn’t any Jamaican lobster, either.”

“That sucks.”

“Sucks hard.”

Kenny let the last of the mountain water funnel over his chin. “You should write your own bedtime story.”

Cartman inched deeper into the stream, turning them both weightless. “Okay. I’ll tuck you in later tonight and spin one outta my ass. Whatcha want?”

“Dragons. And ninjas. And dinosaurs.”

“Dragons and dinosaurs are the same thing.”

“No they aren’t. Dinosaurs can’t fly.”

“That’s definitely scientifically debatable.”

“I want a princess, too.”

“Lemme guess,” Cartman said. “She’s got a penis under her dress.”

“Yeah,” Kenny said. “And there’s a fat prince. But his mom’s a bitch. So the princess has to go save him from his castle. But she’s the princess of a swamp, so she’s kinda nervous he won’t like it.”

“Sounds a lot like Shrek.”

“ _Somebody_ once told me—”

Cartman shoved Kenny’s head under before he finished singing. Kenny wrestled out of his arms and army-crawled away; the stream wasn’t deep enough to swim in. He rolled onto his back after reaching the middle of the ravine.

Cartman appeared, blotting out the sun. “I like the swamp,” he said.

“Good,” Kenny said.

Cartman laid down beside him. A hawk flew by and cawed in acknowledgement. Or maybe they were just lunch. It dropped a nice, beautiful shit downriver. Inspired by this gift, Cartman curved his hand around Kenny’s neck, kissed him again. Kenny slipped his tongue between Cartman’s teeth and a knee between Cartman’s legs—where he encountered a telling hardness.

“You’re dick’s back in business,” he said.

“So it seems,” Cartman said.

Kenny palmed his side, itching to venture south. “Whatcha wanna do about it?”

Cartman covered Kenny’s hand with his own. “I’m following your lead.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. All the way to Hell.”

“That’s nice. I was kind of looking for a yes or no answer, though.”

“Yes,” Cartman said.

Kenny fingered the hem of his sopping jeans. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Cartman said again. Like the Meatloaf track Kenny’s parents jammed to. _Would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses?_

He leaned back on his haunches. “Let’s wait.”

Cartman sat up, elbows wedged into the riverbed. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not gonna let your first sexual experience go down in this nasty creek,” Kenny said. He stood. Cold water siphoned down his heavy clothes and collected at his submerged knees. He held out his hand. “Come on. We’ll get pneumonia if we stay out here any longer.”

Cartman grasped his wrist. Kenny squared his boots and pulled him up. They waded out of the stream and hiked up the ravine.

The conservative drive home passed quietly. No music, no accidents. Just the squelch of their damp clothes and fatigued breathing. The car bumbled, exhausted, in front of Kenny’s empty house.

Kenny tucked his hair, half-evaporated by the car’s heat, behind his ears. “I can ask Kevin to take a look when he gets back,” he offered. “See if there’s any more collateral damage.”

Cartman shut the car off. It clunked down for a deserved nap. “Alright.”

“He won’t ask any questions. He’s cool.”

“I assumed you two have some brotherly NDA.” Cartman shoveled his wet bangs off his purple forehead and sent Kenny a glance. “A non-disclosure agreement.”

“Yeah. It’s better than confessional.”

“Does it extend to significant others?”

Kenny smiled. “Maybe one day.”

“I can live with that,” Cartman accepted. He fumbled for the duffel bag and Kenny’s rifle. “Let’s go inside. I need a shower.”

Kenny gave Cartman another informative presentation, then lingered at the bathroom door and listened to Cousin Bob’s irrevocably stained sweatshirt plop on the tiles. The plastic curtain rustled. The shower head burped and puked a low-pressure cone. Cartman heaved his naked body into the tub. He let out a loud sigh and started jacking off. Cute pig grunts. Shucked his foreskin through his loose fist.

Kenny went into his bedroom and stripped down to his boxers. He laid spread-eagle on the carpet and stared at the whirring fan. The loose light cap squeaked with every passing blade.

**Author's Note:**

> [Meat Loaf - You Took The Words Right Out Of My Mouth (Hot Summer Night)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_wO8toxinoc)


End file.
